Caramel
by slashbutterfly
Summary: Angsty Zabby songfic stuff.
1. Caramel

(A/N: As usual, none of it but the storyline is mine. NCIS belongs to thingamabob, and the lyrics are from Susanne Vega's _Caramel_ – yes, I've skipped a couple of verses. Not sure about the rating, but there's no point in being overcautious - if anyone thinks it's wrong please let me know! Undecided as to whether or not to continue it (I've got so many I said I'd work on) but I like this one, I've got ideas, and I know people aren't going to like my ending. On the other hand, I don't want to spoil it. || I would call it PWP, on account of an almost complete absence of plot, but there's no porn, either, so I guess it's just WP, and bog-standard Zabby angst at that. However, I will take the opportunity (again) to warn you that the ending is kind of bittersweet, so if you're looking for happily-ever-afters, please don't review and criticise. I'm in no mood for flamers. But I will say, to anyone else out there taking exams, regardless of what exams they be or what you think of my fanfic, this is dedicated to you.)

1. Caramel

_It won't do_

_to dream of caramel_

_to think of cinnamon_

_and long for you_

It was no good. Once again she had found herself daydreaming, halted in her work, imagining… well, it would have merited a headslap, if Gibbs had only known. Thinking then of Gibbs, she realised that she would be in line for a headslap anyway if she didn't get a move on. Her computer had been beeping at her for quite a while now, not that it had anything interesting to tell her. The fingerprints had come up negative once again, and the DNA they'd gathered at the crime scene wasn't showing up on any database she ran it through. This, of course, would not be good enough for her boss, should he chance to grace her lab with his presence.

Immediately she heard the faint swishing sound of the automatic doors, and her heart sank. He was doing it again; only now there was nothing to tell him, and she'd have some explaining to do, for sure. Pausing for a moment to compose herself, she spun around with a wide grin on her face, pigtails swinging.

"Gibbs! Just the man I wanted to see."

She saw at once that, luckily for her, he was in a good mood. He came bearing a large Caff-Pow in one hand which he set down quite carefully, for once, on the edge of her desk, before striding over to the screen and looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to produce something.

"Well, Abs? What've you got?"

She grimaced, and held out her hands, palms upwards.

"I'm afraid it's not good news, Gibbs. It's not even news. That is to say, no matches, nothing, _nada_, zip, zero –"

She broke off as he held up a hand.

"I get the picture, Abs. You've got two hours. I want something. Get it done."

"Yes sir!"

She saluted, but the door was already sliding closed behind him.

_It won't do_

_to stir a deep desire_

_to fan a hidden fire_

_that can never burn true_

At a loss as to what computing tricks she could try next, she turned up the volume on the speakers and flopped into her chair, spinning round a couple of times for good measure. She needed McGee there; he'd have ideas. But, of course, it wasn't McGee she wanted in her lab. _Not that she'd have the faintest idea what to do next,_ she reminded herself, tugging on her hair in frustration. _But then again, you don't want her to sort out a… technological problem, do you? It wouldn't even be a very good pretext to get her down here._

_Shut up!_ She tried to enforce some kind of discipline on her thoughts. _Gibbs has given you two hours, and he wants results. He won't be happy if you sit here fantasising about one of his agents all afternoon._

And she was off again in a haze. The hours were soon lost, and it felt like no time at all before the doors were once again sliding open. She jumped to her feet guiltily, knowing there was no way to hide the fact that she'd been idling when she should have been working, and preparing herself for a rant.

But nothing came. Gibbs looked around himself, hearing over the music no beeping machines telling him that anything had changed in the time that had gone by, and then looked back at her, peering into her face a little more closely than usual. She knew he was searching for some sign of her obvious guilt, a flicker of remorse, some kind of excuse or apology, but she could think of nothing. When he opened his mouth to speak, she steeled herself.

"Take a break, Abs."

She started and stared at him in shock.

"What?"

He shook his head, standing where he was, making sure she heeded his words.

"I mean it. Go home. Go to bed. Get a good night's sleep, and be back here in the morning ready to get some results."

"But what about the others? Tony, Ziva – it's not fair –"

Again he cut her off.

"Everyone's taking a break. We're getting nowhere, and exhaustion isn't helping our case. I've sent them home, and I'm going too."

He spun on his heel to leave, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek as he passed. She stood staring after him, still wondering at this new humanitarian Gibbs. She wasn't used to it, and she certainly wasn't sure she liked it. But, after all, what harm could it do? It wasn't as if she was going to get anything constructive done down here. She could just go and mope in the comfort of her own home, and why not?

Gathering her bag together, she swung her coat on her shoulders, and prepared to head off. The only one left upstairs was McGee, still gazing zombie-like into the glare of a computer screen in the darkened office. He looked up as she passed, and smiled sleepily. In return, she kissed the top of his head, and whispered, "Go home, Tim." He gaped after her until the elevator doors had hidden her from view, then promptly slumped forward onto his desk and began to snore.

_I know your name,_

_I know your skin,_

_I know the way these things begin_

Back home, Abby collapsed onto her sofa with a random mix of alcohol in her hand. She hadn't been concentrating when she mixed it, and now, tasting it, she made a face and poured it carelessly into the pot of a cactus plant. It wasn't as though she needed it, and drinking alone was never a good thing. She had only wanted something, anything, however slight or brief, to occupy her mind, and stop images of a certain Israeli drifting from her subconscious to the forefront of her mind. But here they came now, in a parade; Ziva smiling, laughing; Ziva teasing Tony, making jibes about his promiscuity _(and what of her own, she wondered?)_; Ziva in various states of undress…

There she had to stop herself, as the pictures became not memories but figments of her imagination, conjured up by some evil genie living in her mind that wanted her to suffer, although it wasn't exactly suffering; and it wasn't totally the imagination. She'd stared enough times at Ziva. Even fully clothed she was an entrancing sight. Her skin, like the colours of milky coffee; her hair cascading in dark waves onto her smooth shoulders; her hips and legs, almost hidden by her infernal, adorable combats, but somehow all the more pleasing in their obscurity. It wasn't that far a leap to picture her without those tedious outer garments shielding the rest of her beautiful skin, to imagine her slowly removing her shirt and trousers, and…

Abby was lost in her reverie, almost moaning at the images filling her head, hand sliding slowly down her stomach towards her waistband, when her doorbell rang. For a moment she thought she had imagined it, had somehow brought her fantasy into real life; but it went on ringing, and did not stop. Reluctantly she dragged herself upright, straightened her clothes, and went to open the door.

"Abby?"

She was greeted by that same smile that had been in her head a moment before; but it was so much better in real life. She wanted nothing more than to fold her in her arms there and then, do all the things she'd been wanting to do for so long, but she restrained herself. For now, at least, they were nothing more than friends. Still in a daze, she opened the door wider and stood by to let Ziva past, aware that, for once, it was her friend chattering away, and not the other way round. Through the fog she heard vague mumblings, snatches of conversation that seemed miles away.

"It is not exactly every day that Gibbs lets us have time off, is it? So I thought I would come and see you. And look what I brought!"

She held up some bottle – probably some obscure kind of alcohol, Abby supposed, and tried not to groan at the prospect of becoming even more intoxicated in the presence of her extremely attractive colleague. _Still,_ she reminded herself, _you wouldn't be the only one getting drunk…_

She became aware that Ziva was watching her closely.

"Abby? You seem a little… distant."

Shaking her head, she forced a smile.

"It's nothing. Guess I'm still in shock at Gibbs' generosity!"

Her laugh, when it came, was half-hearted and weak, and it did not completely dispel the curiosity in Ziva's eyes. But she quieted for a moment, and set about pouring two glasses of whatever it was she had brought. Abby watched her as the mist cleared gradually, and tried not to stare. _God, she's beautiful. It's so unfair. She would have to be a co-worker, wouldn't she? And a predominantly heterosexual ice queen, at that._ She sighed just as Ziva passed her a glass, and received another strange look. Trying to foist off further questions, she downed it, and was pleasantly surprised. It was, after all, just wine, and a pleasantly fruity one, too. Reinforced by the alcohol, she got up the courage to grin.

"Got any ideas, then?"

She was taken aback as Ziva put down her glass, a distinctly predatory look in her eyes, and took Abby's glass as well, placing it well out of reach.

"Plans? Well, in a manner of speaking," she mused, slowly moving closer, reaching out to trace the line of Abby's jaw with one long finger. "It all depends, of course."

Forcing herself to stay calm _(and not to think about what else that finger could be doing…)_, she looked Ziva in the eyes. "Depends on what?"

Not in the least dissuaded by Abby's standoffishness, Ziva's hand continued down her neck and along her collarbone. "On you, of course."

_Yes, please!_ Internally Abby cursed her overactive imagination, and tried to regain control. This wasn't how it should go. _But this is what you want, isn't it? She's here, Abby, and willing. What more could you ask for?_ **And how do I know she's not just drunk?** she answered herself, trying not to show outward signs of the inward struggle. But that first voice was so inviting… why not have a little fun, once in a while? So she grinned back at Ziva, stepped forward, put one hand on her hip, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric, and began to kiss her roughly.

_But I don't know_

_how I would live with myself_

_what I'd forgive of myself_

_if you don't go_

Something was wrong, though, out of place. It wasn't just worries about Ziva's state of mind, but something more. It was hard to think straight; lust was clouding her mind, and Ziva's tongue was in her mouth now, and it felt good. It was so long since she'd felt that connection with the person kissing her. To be honest, it was a long time since she'd kissed a girl, and she'd missed it so very much. So different to a guy… half of them would just stick their tongue down her throat, no concern for her at all. Girls were so different, so much more careful.

Without knowing quite why she did so, she pushed her away firmly, wiping her mouth on her hand surreptitiously as she did so. Ziva looked confused at the sudden loss of contact. "What –" she began, but Abby cut her off.

"I'm sorry, Ziva. This just isn't right – I can't explain it – I think you'd better go."

That only added to Ziva's confusion.

"Is it because it's me? Abby, is this all about Rule 12?"

She wanted to cry then, in frustration and anger, at Gibbs for giving them the opportunity, at Ziva for coming here, at herself for ruining it all.

"No! No, it's not about Rule 12. It's just – it's me, I guess. I'm overtired. We can talk some other time. Please?"

Without a glance backwards, Ziva strode out, closing the door loudly behind her. Abby watched her go, slumping back down onto the sofa at her exit, in a darker mood than she had been before her unexpected guest.

_So goodbye_

_sweet appetite_

_no single bite_

_could satisfy…_

Minutes later there was another knock on her door. She went, even more slowly now, half-hoping it would be her again, half-dreading seeing her face. Her fears were confirmed as she looked at Ziva on her doorstep for the second time that evening. The Israeli smiled apologetically, her earlier anger forgotten, all apologies.

"I'm sorry, Abby – I left my bag, and… well, I did not want to leave it like this. I came on a little strong, did I not? But we are still friends – yes?"

Abby couldn't stop herself from smiling at the still slightly broken English, the unfamiliar phrases tumbling from Ziva's lips, and forced herself to give the answer that was required.

"Yes, Ziva. Of course we're still friends. I wouldn't stop liking you because of a – a drunken misunderstanding, would I?"

She caught a flicker of something in Ziva's eyes at her words – an intense pain, or so it seemed – but put it to the back of her mind. _Stop fooling yourself, Sciuto. She wanted a bit of fun, a little company, that's all. Don't go thinking you're special, that you mean anything to her._

To prevent the inevitable awkward silence, she hugged her friend tightly, reinforcing her words, and smiled to herself when Ziva hugged back. So maybe they couldn't be what she wanted. But being friends was almost as good – right? _No…_

Hours of laughing, talking and drinking later, she sat with upright on the sofa, Ziva's head in her lap where she had finally fallen asleep. She stroked the dark hair idly, tangling it in her fingers, careful not to tug or do anything that might wake her. Her thoughts began to drift, and soon she was dozing off to a night of broken sleep and half-remembered dreams.

_It won't do_

_to dream of caramel_

_to think of cinnamon_

_and long_

_for you…_

(A/N: Yes, I realise that in my Zabby, a) they always end up on the sofa, and b) the whole affair comes with strings attached. I'll just make a last plea: please, only constructive criticism (as in very, _very _vague criticism). I can't take anything more!)


	2. Save Me

(A/N: Second chapter, because this beautiful song fits. (It's by Aimee Mann.) Ziva's POV this time. I'm somehow not quite satisfied with this: I'd value opinions. Third chapter, maybe? I've got a couple of ideas. If anyone likes it, that is. I apologise now for the OOC-ness and complete fluffy angstiness of it all.

Oh, and by the way, this chapter contains a lot of completely made up description of Abby's apartment – forgive me?)

2. Save Me

When Ziva woke, she had cramp in her neck, shoulders, and legs. This, she realised, was because she was lying on a sofa slightly too short for her, with her head in someone's lap, if she was not very much mistaken. Having had some practice in this area, she did not sit up straight away, as was her instinct; apart from anything else, she had a sneaking suspicion that it would give her a spectacular headache. Instead she lay quite still, as her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and wisps of memory came floating back.

She remembered Gibbs being unusually lenient, and sending them home; some time later she had turned up at Abby's apartment, bearing wine; there had been… Here she had to stop herself from groaning. There had been kissing, and an argument. And then… she had come back, on some pretext. After that she had no further recollections.

And so, having pieced together the puzzle, she surmised that this must be Abby's flat, Abby's sofa, and therefore also Abby's lap. Immediately the urge to get up became too much to resist, and she raised her head, groaning now not at thoughts but at the very real pain behind her eyes. It wasn't that she objected to being so close to Abby. Not at all. She just couldn't allow herself to. It was too dangerous. Getting to her feet, she padded softly in the direction of the bathroom, trying not to wake her hostess.

_You look like_

_a perfect fit_

_for a girl in need_

_of a tourniquet_

_but can you save me_

_come on and save me_

_if you could save me_

_from the ranks_

_of the freaks_

_who suspect_

_they could never love anyone_

Running cold water in the sink, she splashed her face in an effort to wake herself up. It worked, but only made the headache more intense. Straightening up, she looked at herself in the mirror, surprised to see that she did not look as bad as she would have thought. Sure, her hair was a little messy, but it was nothing a hairbrush couldn't fix. She spied the very thing on top of a bathroom cabinet, and, reaching it down, couldn't help but grin at the red and black bat motif that was just so _Abby_.

As she set about taming her curls, trying not to pull on the ends too much, her mind began to wander, no matter how much she tried to stop it. Their kiss kept replaying in her mind; over and over she watched Abby pull away, felt her hands shoving her backwards as if suddenly disgusted. But that couldn't be it. She'd watched her too carefully, seen the way Abby stared at her when she thought she wasn't looking. And Ziva David was no fool. She knew what that look meant, was well aware that a certain forensic scientist was falling for her in a big way. But she was powerless to stop it, had no way of telling her _Don't love me. I will let you down._

Sighing, she put the hairbrush down and doused her face again to freshen up. _Maybe you should just get "Danger – keep away" tattooed on your forehead, _she thought to herself. _It would save everyone a lot of trouble_.

The truth was – oh, she knew what the truth was all right. She just wasn't ready to admit it to herself, let alone anyone else. But she also knew that the time would come very soon indeed when she would have to confront it. _Just a few more minutes_, she promised herself.

_Cause I can tell_

_you know what it's like_

_the long goodbye_

_of the hunger strike_

_but can you save me_

_come on and save me_

_if you could save me_

_from the ranks_

_of the freaks_

_who suspect_

_they could never love anyone_

As soon as she left the bathroom, however, it became clear she was not going to get a few more minutes; for Abby was standing against the only other door out of the sitting room, arms folded, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for some kind of… something. Ziva crossed the room and seated herself on the sofa, preparing herself for whatever Abby might fire at her. But she did not speak immediately, just stood there, as if waiting for Ziva to make the first move. They were locked in this stalemate for what seemed like hours, until Abby burst out,

"Why?"

Trying to keep calm, Ziva asked, "Why what?" in her most level voice.

The Goth did not seem impressed with this answer.

"Why did you come here in the first place, with _wine_? Were you planning to get me drunk, to _seduce_ me? Why did you let me kiss you? Why did you come back?"

Ziva stared at the floor, struggling to compose her answers into something she could actually say. _Because I fucking love you, you idiot, _she wanted to scream. _Because I can't love you, but I do anyway. Because kissing you is the only way I could show it._ But none of these could she say out loud.

Looking now at the wallpaper, she cleared her throat.

"Because… because, Abby, you are my friend. I wanted to spend time with you. I had the wine anyway. I suppose I wanted to celebrate an evening off. "

Again, she coughed. Her mouth seemed suddenly very dry.

"I – kissed you back because…" She paused, choosing her words very carefully. "Because I wanted to, because I…I care for you very deeply." At this she looked up at the other woman briefly, hoping, praying that Abby would understand.

"I think that should answer your last question as well," she said quietly, not wanting to see her friend's expression. Instead she studied the floor again, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

_You struck me dumb_

_like radium_

_like Peter Pan_

_or Superman_

_you will come_

_to save me_

_why don't you save me_

_come on and save me_

_if you could save me_

_from the ranks_

_of the freaks_

_who suspect_

_they could never love anyone_

She heard soft footsteps crossing the room, and felt the sofa sag as Abby sat down beside her. And then there was an arm around her shoulders, and she was – no, she was not crying, she was most definitely not crying.

When the water from her non-existent tears had long since evaporated, she became aware that Abby was speaking, and turned her head as she tuned into what she was saying.

"The thing is, Ziva… when I kissed you, and you didn't pull back… I thought you were drunk, not knowing what you were doing. And then when I had time to think about it, I realised you'd only had less than a glass of wine, and I know you can hold your alcohol better than that. But… that just made me madder, somehow."

She paused, and tied her loose black hair in two pigtails, as if to help her think.

"I thought you were just using me, getting me drunk so you could have your way with me." She held up a hand to stop Ziva's indignant reply, and looked her straight in the eyes.

"I'm not going to be your plaything, Ziva. I've done that before; once and never again. And you… you're too special to wreck this. Because if you want something – if you are willing to let this go anywhere – I'm in it for the long haul. I don't want to be some kind of fuck buddy. I – I love you. I know you can't say the same, but you said you care. Is that enough?"

Looking into her beautiful eyes, Ziva wanted to kiss her right then and there, but she knew that question needed an answer. "Abigail… will you have dinner with me tomorrow evening?" From the surprise on her face, she knew it was not the answer she was expecting, but she could see that it would do very well. So she kissed her, gently, as if claiming her once and for all.

A small while later they both entered the NCIS building and parted, Abby to go off to her lab, Ziva to try and apologise to Gibbs somehow. And if they were both smiling a little more than usual, well, no-one else noticed. They were both happy enough for now in the fragile peace they had reached.

(A/N: Anyone willing to offer aforementioned opinions? Reviews would be nice.)


End file.
